


No One Can be a Dick All the Time

by tardis-eneth-nin (flippinsirens)



Series: Tumblr Writing Challenge [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied Johnlock, M/M, Mild Language, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippinsirens/pseuds/tardis-eneth-nin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon asked: could i please have john just like talking to himself and yelling at sherlock bc sherlock would be the worst rommate ever but also the best and john just gets so angry and please add in some bamf!John if ya can please please please ty!! <3333</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Can be a Dick All the Time

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually pretty fun to write, to be honest. I wasn't sure what direction I wanted it to go in at first. I tried third person, but it didn't work, so you're stuck with first person, John's POV. Also, unbeta'd, so any and all mistake left behind are my own that I just didn't catch. Enjoy~

Let me be clear: you are positively one of the worst flatmates to ever live on the face of the planet. I've marked you up next to drug dealers, drugged up teenagers, and people who don't pay the rent on time. All equally annoying and able to make a saint curse inside a church. I honestly just do not understand what made me agree to living with you, you git.

Shall I explain, then?

One: you traipse around naked the majority of the time because you can't be arsed to actually put on some clothes or something that covers your bits. I've been in the army, Sherlock, I'm used to seeing half-naked to fully naked men, but they had reason to not put on clothes and there was always a level of privacy and respect for those that were uncomfortable with it. You, however, just simply saunter in as if you actually pay the bills--which you don't by the way, I do--and own the place, flop onto the couch or the armchair so nonchalantly, not seeming to care at all about any sort of decency. I realize that you live here, Sherlock, I do, and I understand the logic behind not wearing clothes, but sometimes, I'd rather not see your bullocks hanging there while I'm trying to read or something.

Two: The kitchen. I feel as if I don't need to say anymore, honestly. But I will anyway because maybe then you'll get it through your thick skull that we are not pigs and shouldn't live as such! What the hell is with all the clutter? One can hardly cook in the kitchen, or make tea, which is the purpose of the kitchen, what with all the papers strewn about and science experiments and the fungus and mold growing on _things_ inside the fridge and cupboards that I don't even want to know the reason why they are there to begin with. There's such a thing as a duster, a rag, and some soap. Use them. A lot. Because Mrs. Hudson and I are not your maids and I'm getting really annoyed with not being able to wash dishes or clean off the counter because _you_ have a _precious experiment_ that needs to not be disturbed. Sod your experiments.

Three: Have you ever heard of such a thing as privacy? Of course you have but I can see that you don't actually care for the practice of it. _My_ laptop, Sherlock. _My_ personal files. _My_ schedule. _My_ things. Do. Not. Touch. My. Things. In fact, let's try you not touching anything that _is not_ yours. Think you can do that? You don't have boundaries, that's fine. But I do and I would really appreciate it if you took one fucking moment to respect them and not just hop over them as soon as possible. Some things I don't mind sharing, honestly, but when it comes to my life and my laptop--where I have certain files that I don't want you snooping through, and no, I am not talking about porn, Sherlock, stop it--I will share with you wahtever I choose. So, if you ask me a question and I don't answer, do not steal my laptop or my phone or anything else and try to google it or try to see if I have the information hidden somewhere. If I didn't tell you, there is a good reason for it even though you may not like it or can't see it.

Four: I understand that you get really bored most of the time. But, please, for the love that is all of England, stop trying to get me involved in your bloody experiments! In case you haven't noticed, I am a human being, and I have feelings, Sherlock. It's a bit rude to constantly harass me about experiments of any nature and then to perform them without my consent. In fact, I'm pretty sure the BPS and other organisations might have regulations about that sort of thing. But, no. You don't care. They're being ridiculous. My consent would ruin the experiment. Yes, yes, I've heard it all before, Sherlock, from your lips, but it's getting rather old and irritating and I swear, one day, I will punch you in the kidney if this keeps up. Don't think I won't.

Five: You play your bloody violin at all hours of the night, usually when I have to work the next morning. Do I even need to point out the problem here? Sherlock, sleep is essential, no matter how vehemently you wish it otherwise. And if a case deprives me of sleep and I still have to work in the morning, it would be beneficial to my health and mood if I actually get sleep. You may live off of no sleep for days at a time, but I cannot, and if I'm not working at full capacity there is a chance that one or both of us could potentially get hurt while working a case and do not, for the love of all things sacred, try to deny it.

Six: When I'm talking to you about important matters, like, oh, I don't know, the rent, does it go in one ear and right out the other? Or do you pretend to ignore me just to rile me up? Because, either way, it needs to stop. You might not actually bother with such things as groceries or the rent or whether or not it's arse o'clock in the morning, but it's just polite to pay attention to me when I'm talking about all that, anyway, because it does hold a tiny bit of significance in some way, I promise you. Like, for instance, last night, when I mentioned I was short on rent because I had missed three days of work--because of an experiment with a virus you didn't tell me about, mind you--were you even paying the slightest bit of attention? Knowing you, you were probably off in your mind palace. Which is great, by the way, I'm not stopping you. If it helps with the boredom of every day life, go right ahead and stay in there, but, honestly, it would be nice to see that you've actually acknowledged what I've said to you, even if you don't want to hear what I have to say.

And that's just the general problems. There are a bunch of little things: like the fact that you don't eat or sleep properly, that you have no sense of social niceties or politeness, and the fact that you seem very keen on emcroaching on my personal space. All the time.

However, to be perfectly honest, the latter issue I don't really have that much of a problem with. Privacy invasion? Yes. Personal space? Not really. I was in the army; we used to curl up together to keep warm in the middle of the night, we used to have twenty or so soldiers be packed into a tent meant for only about ten to fifteen. So, personal space isn't an issue for me, Sherlock. In fact, I find it rather comforting. I probably wouldn't verbally admit this to you because you've probably figured it out, which is probably why you keep intruding. Clever bastard, you are.

See, the thing is, when you intrude on my personal space, it lets me know that you're there. Of course I know that you're _there_ , but there's a difference. You might be in the same city, same room, but when you're within my personal space, it becomes more than just your physical presence. It's more of a very cliche bond that you would laugh at. It feels like tiny little lights are flickering and their warmth flutters around for a bit before it settles back in darkness when you remove yourself. Physical contact is something that I've always sought, in any form you could imagine, more in one form than others, though. It's something I crave, that I need to have to feel safe and secure, to know that you are safe and secure, as well. You're just feeding this craving, selfish, need of mine, Sherlock. And I have no idea if it's on purpose or not. I'd like to think it is because I haven't really seen you to do this sort of thing with anybody else. Sure, you hug Mrs. Hudson, but you're not constantly on her arm, over her shoulder, or touching her hands. Not like your interactions with me.

So, I don't mind the personal space intrusions. You can keep doing that, I suppose. 

And, I guess it's fine if you don't acknowledge what I'm saying to you all the time because, well, we've never had to owe on any bills so I know that you pay attention to that. When I've yelled at you to clean up your less-than-appealing experiments, you tend to do that within a few days, even if they aren't done, so, yeah, there's that. And... well, when it comes to your safety on a case, you really do pay attention to me. But, I suppose that comes from the fact that I've military experience and if I didn't care for your well-being, who would?

Along those lines, you really need to sleep soon, Sherlock. You've been awake for at least three days now without rest and I can see the affect it's having on you. Don't pick up that violin!--and you do it, anyway. I am long suffering if I'm living with you, I realize. 

But, you know what?, it's okay, I guess. It's not really that late and you need something to calm yourself down. So, if playing the violin does that? Then fine. In fact, it's rather soothing to me, as well, so go ahead and play it. All night if you want. Just make sure that when I go to bed, it's a bit softer than normal, alright?

I guess some of the other stuff is okay, too. Just... it's been a long day, Sherlock, and you refusing to eat didn't help any.

Oh, and, by the way, you're still going to clean that bloody kitchen tomorrow once you've rested, don't even think about trying to get out of that.


End file.
